
NUMBERS 

and other 
One-Act Plays 



GROVER 
THEIS 





Class J?A__:UA2_ 
Book__- -Ha Ha 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



NUMBERS 

and Other One Act Plays 



BY 

Grover Theis 



NICHOLAS L. BROWN 
NEW YORK MCMXIX 



COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
GROVER T HEIS 

Published May, 1919 



ALL DRAMATIC BIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR 



JUL 14 1919 
^C'lD 52 209 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Numbers 7 

Between Fires 31 

The Crack in the Bell 51 

There's a Difference 67 

Like a Book 91 



NUMBERS 



CHARACTERS 



A Major, 

A Lieutenant, Philip. 

A Girl, Marie. 

Madame. 



The scene is an officer's quarters at a considerable 
distance from the- front. Household furniture min- 
gled with technical war equipment fills the room. A 
door in the back wall leads to the street; one in the 
left wall to the kitchen. A stairway leads up along 
the wall at the right to the second floor. The house 
suggests a tradesman's home in a small village. 
The Major, a large robust man of a blunt, blustery 
nature, is sitting at a large table in the centre, work- 
ing over official documents. The only light in the 
room is from a heavily shaded lamp on this table; 
its zone of illumination extends over only a small 
space of floor beyond the edge of the table. The 
Lieutenant, a slender young man with sensitive fea- 
tures, is sitting in an arm-chair, facing away from 
the table. 

The Major. (Putting together a pile of papers 
and flattening them by pounding on them with his 
fist) There now, that is done! (Receiving no re- 
sponse from the Lieutenant, he walks around and 
stands in front of him) What's the matter? Why 
so woe-begone? 

11 



NUMBERS 

The Lieutenant. {Rousing himself) Oh . . ^ 
nothing ... I was just thinking. 

The Major. {Laughing loudly) Bad for you 
— don't do it. I never do. {After a pause) 
Thinking.? About what.^* The girl back home, I 
suppose, eh? 

The Lieutenant. No — not exactly . . . 

The Major. No — of course not — but in gen- 
eral, yes. {Walks across room) That's it. Um, 
hm. Yes, yes, I know. You're just about that 
age when you don't know what's the matter with 
you. 

The Lieutenant. Oh, there's nothing the mat- 
ter. I'm all right. Tired, I guess. 

The Major. Um, hm. Yes, yes, I know ; I sup- 
pose so. I've handled young fellows like you for 
twenty years — I know. Then I used to be one my- 
self — so was your father — we w^ent to school to- 
gether. Yes, yes. {Laughs) Physiology is physi- 
ology. It was then and it is now. I learned that 
early. {Laughs) That's why I have the constitu- 
tion I've got. 

The Lieutenant. {Merely saying something) 
Yes, I suppose physiology is physiology. 
12 



NUMBERS 

(A to7ie of irony attends the statement, but 
the Major does not appreciate it) 

The Major. Yes, and it's a good thing to recog- 
nize that . . . You've been up on the front-line now 
for about three months, haven't you? 

The Lieutenant. Just about — but it seems 
like three years — even in retrospect. I wouldn't 
know just how to count the time. 

The Major. Hmm. That's it. I guess that 
can be arranged. Hmm. I'm going down to Head- 
quarters now and I won't be back for about two and 
a half hours. You'll be here alone. That's lots of 
time. 

The Lieutenant. Yes, sir. 

The Major. Yes, yes. (Laughs) You know 
the last one had to go back. I don't know who it 
was — it wasn't me, though. (Laughs) But the 
new one is a lot prettier. Let me see, her name is — 
she just came before you did — oh, I've forgotten 
what it is, but she's a pretty one. Flirts like the 
devil — even with an old man like me. I'll tell Ma- 
dame to send her in here — to help you with those 
orders — and not to interrupt you. 

The Lieutenant. (Beginning to perceive the 

13 



NUMBERS 

Major's purpose) You needn't go to any trouble 
like that for me, Major. I'm a gloomy sort of chap, 
who is a better teacher of mathematics than a sol- 
dier; so what you think may not be the reason any- 
how. 

The Major. Rot ! Physiology is physiology 
whether you're a professor of mathematics or a 
truck-driver. Anyway, what's the difference.^ 
We've got to look after the future of the nation. 
(The Major begins in a spirit of levity, but abruptly 
becomes serious) Yes, by God, the nation is bleed- 
ing white — thousands have been killed ; we've got 
to build a new nation. We can't be squeamish. 
These are war-times. Numbers count. We have 
got to have people of our own flesh and blood to 
carry on what we are fighting for — to keep it 
sacred, and to perpetuate the heritage for which we 
are giving our lives. 

The Lieutenant. But . . . 

The Major. (QuicMy and sharply) No buts. 
. . . You alwaj^s think of how things were and how 
they ought to be — never how they are. But I've 
been in wars before this and if I live long enough I 
will be in other wars. I know. And these are war- 
14> 



NUMBERS 

times. (More quietly) I suppose, my son, you had 
a girl to whom you'd be married now if it hadn't 
been for the war. Yes, that would have been pleas- 
anter and more romantic — but romance soon wears 
off. Yes, it does, it don't last. You're one of those 
dreamers. I know your kind, you idealists. I al- 
ways have liked you fellows who can dream — Inever 
could. Hell, I even sleep too soundly to dream at 
night. 

The Lieutenant. So do I nowadays. 

The Major. Well, don't be so sad about it. 
You're one of these tender souls. I ought to have 
had more sense and said nothing about it. The idea 
of going out and leaving you alone on purpose does 
seem rather too brutal. Oh, you young fellows — 
you know too little and believe too much. 

The Lieutenant. Oh, no — it doesn't make any 
difference that you told me. {Smiles) I see your 
point of view. What you said about thousands be- 
ing killed, and needing to multiply our race — that's 
right. 

The Major. (Kindly) Listen, son ; don't count 
too much on any one. The one you think is waiting 
for you — she's probably off with some one else. Oh, 

U 



NUMBERS 

that's all right. I had it happen to me, too. There's 
female physiology as well as male physiology. 

The Lieutenant. {Subtly) And a good deal 
of psychology on both sides. 

The Major. Psychology? Psychology! Oh, 
yes — psychology too ; but I'll bet my knowledge of 
physiology, and psychology too, against yours, and 
give you ten to one on all of your dreams and ideals 
— and I never studied to be a teacher either. 
(Calls) Madame! Madame! Come here a minute. 
(Madame, a haggish woman of sixty, comes 
hobbling in from the kitchen) 

Madame. Yes, Major, yes, sir. Here I am — 
I'm coming. 

The Major. What's the house girl doing? 
Where is she? 

Madame. She's upstairs sewing, Major. 

The Major. Send her down here to help the 
Lieutenant file away these papers. He will give her 
instructions. You go upstairs and finish the sew- 
ing for her — and stay there. {Looks at her sig- 
nificantly, gets his hat and coat, and goes out) I 
shall be at Headquarters. 

{The Lieutenant rises and salutes. When 
16 



NUMBERS 

the Major has closed the door he sits down 
again. He seems to be resuming an inter- 
rupted train of thought, and shades his eyes 
with his hand) 
Madame. {After a pause, in a raspvng voice) 
You, you young Lieutenants, yo\x\ {Looks at him) 
Goodness gracious, what are you so sad about? 

The Lieutenant. {Half to himself) Sad? 
I'm not sad. {Looks up) I was just wishing this 
war were over so I could go back and finish my post- 
graduate work. 

Madame. {Laughs in an annoying manner) I 
thought you was going to say back to your sweet- 
heart; or have you forgotten her, or has she run 
away with some one back there? Oh, yes — studies ! 
War knocks all the romance out of you young peo- 
ple. It was just like that in the last one when I 
was a young girl. That was forty years ago — 
just think, forty years! 

The Lieutenant. {Wearily) The only people 
who are romantic are old women who get their thrills 
out of reading novels. 

Madame. {Misunderstanding him) Yes, yes, 
you don't want to listen to an old woman like me. 

17 



NUMBERS 

But I'll tell you, young man, girls like romance, even 
if it is play-acting. And maybe this one had a 
sweetheart . . . yes, yes, I'm going — the Major's 
orders. 

(^She clatters up tJie stairway and disap- 
pears. The Lieutenant drops hack in his 
chair and closes his eyes. Presently Marie, 
a pretty, plump girl, appears at the head of 
the stairs. Slie pauses a moment and then 
comes down. Her manner is rather gay. 
The Lieutenant does not notice her) 
Marie. (Hesitating at the table) Madame said 
the Major wants me to help you with some work. 

The Lieutenant. (Without looking up) You'll 
find the papers on the table there. 

Marie. (Makes a gri/mace at his pre-occupation 
and sits down. After a pause, vivaciously) How 
did things go to-day, Mr. Bear? 

The Lieutenant. About the same as usual. 
Marie. Doesn't seem so. What are you so 
grouchy about then? 

(Bends her head over her work) 
The Lieutenant. Grouchy? (He gets up and 
walks a few steps away from the table, looki/ng up 
18 



NUMBERS 

at the ceiling, closmg his eyes tightly, and then open- 
ing tlieni again) Oh, I'm not grouchy. 

{Walks aroimd behind her, still at a dis- 
tance) 
Marie. {Half coquettishly) You'd better come 
and see if I am doing this right or the Major might 
get angry. 

{The Lieutenant looks at her for the first 
time. She applies herself to the papers, be- 
traying consciousness of his glance) 
The Lieutenant. {With an attempt at light- 
ness) If I came too close I might be tempted to 
steal a kiss. {She does not answer. Suddenly he 
takes two or three steps towards her, stares at her 
bewildered as though to brush something from his 
mind; then moves quickly to her side, takes her by 
the shoulders, looks at her. Shouts) Marie! 
Marie. {Recognizes him and cries) Philip! 
The Lieutenant. Marie ! {He seizes her in his 
arms and kisses her, murmuring) Marie! INIarie! 
{Suddenly his muscles relax and he pushes 
her aside as if terrified and stares at her) 
Marie. Why, what is the matter, Philip? 
{Touches his aim) Oh, I'm so glad — so glad to 

19 



NUMBERS 

see jou again. It is such a surprise — oh, God, it 
is good to know you are aKve. I never expected to 
see you here. 

The Lieutenant. {Standing motionless and 
speaking taith difficidty; quotes her state-ment) " I 
never expected to see you here." No, you didn't 
expect to see me — I didn't expect to see you either 
{Passes his hand over his eyes), or is it a dream? 
You! 

Marie. {Alarmed) What is it, Philip? Aren't 
you glad to see me? Aren't you well? {She 
puts her hand on his shoulder) Have you been 
wounded ? 

The Lieutenant. {Madly) Don't touch me — 
{Shudders) — go away — go away ! 

Maeie. {Frightened) For God's sake, Philip, 
what is the matter with you? This is Marie, your 
Marie. {He laughs) Good God, what has hap- 
pened to you? What have they done to you? 

The Lieutenant. {Still laughing) Taught me 
physiology. Yes, that's it — physiology. {Sits 
down and huries his head in his hands. Half-laugh- 
ing, half -sobbing) I never knew any before — I 
spent too much time on mathematics. 
20 



NUMBERS 

Marie. (Coming over to him) What do you 
mean, Philip? What are you talking about? Don't 
be foolish — this is Marie, Marie from back home. 
(He looks at her and shakes his head) We were to 
be married. 

The Lieutenant. Married! Married! (Laughs) 
Physiology I 

(He gets up and iimlks around, laughvng 
hysterically, artif daily) 

Mabie. (Half angrily). Good God, Philip, have 
you gone mad? 

The Lieutenant. Mad? I am mad, you say? 
(Suddenly he quiets down) No, I'm not mad. You 
were glad to see me, you said. I haven't seen you 
in a year, or is it two years? I can't seem to re- 
member numbers any more — a year, I think. You 
were in the Red Cross when I had my last furlough — 
in a hospital. I didn't see you then. You have 
grown, haven't you, Marie? You are two inches 
taller — at least that much. How old are you? 
You are plumper too. But that's natural — that's 
physiology. 

Marie. In Heaven's name, Philip, what do you 
mean? 

21 



NUMBERS 

The Lieutenant. You will have to o back like 
the other one did — soon — won't you.'' 

Marie. Philip ! No, no, no, that's not true — 
what you think isn't true. 

The Lieutenant. Don't lie, don't lie, I know. 
Don't be afraid of me. These are war times ; the 
nation is bleeding white. We must look to the fu- 
ture of the nation — we can't be squeamish. Num- 
bers count. 

Marie. But it's not true, Philip — what you 
think is not true. It's a lie. It's not true. 

The Lieutenant. But it should be — it would 
be, if I hadn't been I. {Imitates her voice) " Why 
are you so grouchy to-night, Mr. Bear.'' " It is 
your function in life — your physiological function. 
It is what you were sent here for. 

Marie. Philip, you are not talking sense. Let 
me explain — you are crazy. 

The Lieutenant. I am crsLzy? Ha! That's 
what the Major would say if he saw me now. You 
were surprised to see me alive — I am dead. You 
are dead. We are dead to each other — the physi- 
ology of us lives — that's all. There is female 
physiology as well as male physiology. So many 



NUMBERS 

phjsiologier The Major knows physiology. Psy- 
chology? Physiology. I eat, I drink, I digest, I 
get wounded, I am healed — that's all. I am one 
in a number of physiologies — you are another. 
(Glares at her) Yes, you're just a physiology too. 

Marie. Be quiet, Philip, don't talk that way. 
Don't look at me like that. {Trying to calm him) 
Philip, don't you remember? We loved each other. 
You loved me. I loved you. I love you. 

The Lieutenant. Love ! Bah ! Romance soon 
wears off. Ten minutes ago I didn't believe it — 
now I know. That's psychology though. We swore 
to be true to each, other, both of us. But we have 
both broken that vow. Be honest t I broke it to- 
night — on you — before I saw who you were — I 
broke my vow in this room. I was intended to break 
it. It was to be for the good of the nation — to 
perpetuate a sacred heritage. It is dark in here. . . 
That's what the Major said. It is dark in here; 
I didn't know who you were. You were a pretty 
girl who flirted even with an old man like the Major. 
You were taking the place of the one who had to 
go back. I stood here — I saw the back of your 
head and your white neck — I said I had better not 

29 



NUMBERS 

come too close or I might steal a kiss. I was think- 
ing. . . Physiology is physiology. Tell me, Marie, 
honestly — you . . . 

Marie. Don't say those things, Philip. You are 
crazy. 

The Lieutenant. Come, come, you have been at 
other billets. Maybe it hasn't gone as far as I said 
— but that makes no difference — you are only a 
physiological number in a national multiplication 
table. 

Marie. Stop, Philip ; I'd rather have you kill me 
than say those things. 

The Lieutenant. Kill you.'' Why should I kill 
you? Don't be afraid. These are M^ar times — in 
peace times I might have killed you — or killed my- 
self. But we kill for a different purpose now. The 
Major was right. It's a mathematical problem — a 
problem of numbers — a very simple one. (Ma- 
dame, alarmed at the shouting, looks in through the 
door at the head of the stairway. She notes the 
uncanny look on the Lieutenant's face, listens a 
minute, and then disappears hastily) Numbers 
count in war. It is physiology we want to kill. 
The rest is nothing. If I killed you I would be a 
£4> 



NUMBERS 

traitor to mj country — it would be treason — num- 
bers count. Less numbers for the enemy, more num- 
bers for us. You are not Marie, the girl I was 
going to marry — I am not Philip whom you were 
going to marry. You are a unit in a nation ; I am 
another unit in that nation. It's a problem in mul- 
tiplication — one of the first things we learned in 
mathematics — a simple problem. We are stran- 
gers. Numbers, mere numbers. They are easy to 
say : a million men, a million dollars — a billion men, 
a billion dollars. That's the way things are counted 
to-day. I wonder how many a million is — yes ! 
I — I, a teacher of mathematics, wonder. A million, 
billion, trillion. (Gesture of throwing the amoiunt 
lightly) Kill a million souls and spare one life, that 
is war. What good are souls if we have not men.'' 
The Major left us alone on purpose. He was think- 
ing about the future of the nation. We need men 
to fight and women to bring more men into the world. 
More and more of them, a million more. . . 
{Stretches his arms above his head) Oh, God \ I 
see a thousand, a million lecherous eyes stare at me 
as I stand here. I am a fool ! A fool t But, by 
God, I have not lost my sense of humor yet. By 

S5 



NUMBERS 

God, no! I will tell the Major I think it will be 
twins ^ — God, how he will roar at the joke. It's 
numbers that count. . . 

Marie. {Trying to quiet him) Keep quiet, 
Philip. Your nerves are shattered. (She leads him 
to the chair and tries to soothe him. He does not 
seem to notice her presence. She kneels before him 
and the picture is one that suggests domestic hap- 
piness. Timidly) Oh, Philip, I love you. I love 
only you. You mustn't think such things. Things 
have changed. These are war times. But remem- 
ber everything, dear, as if the war hadn't come. 
We'd be married now — a year — and have our 
home and be happy together, you and I. The world 
would be for you and me. 

The Lieutenant. (As if awakening from a 
dream, takes her head in his Jumds. Tenderly) 
Marie, forgive me. I can't think, I don't know what 
I have been saying. (Shudders convulsively) My 
thoughts are shrieking shells ; they burst in my head 
into a thousand pieces, a million pieces. I am stum- 
bling through the darkness ; my hopes are comrades, 
hundreds of them, falling by my side. I only hear 
the roar, the constant roar of guns, thousands of 



NUMBERS 

guns. I can hear them in my head. We are at- 
tacking. {Falls to his Inees) Now I am in the 
wire entanglements. There is nothing but wire 
everywhere, barbed wire. (Gets up, staring wildly^ 
Now a rocket lights up the darkness. I see them 
coming. I hear bullets now, bullets, thousands of 
bullets. We crawl along, along — on and on. We 
flounder through the mud. It is black again. The 
night is black — a million sounds fill the blackness. 
God, if only daylight would come } Any minute I 
may be struck — each one seems a thousand long. 
We are going ahead, hundreds of us — there are 
hundreds more coming. If only daylight would 
come ! If only the firing would stop ! Now we are 
on them ; I am numb, but we go on and on and on. 
There they are t Hundreds of them — more and 
more — on and on and on. There is one, one, out 
of the millions — he is going to shoot me — he is 
fighting for his life as I am for mine. We are killing 
each other like a million others. {He bends over 
Marie, wJio is sittvng terrified on the floor) There 
are just the two of us now, just two — he is one 
and I am one. We don't hear the millions, we don't 
see them. He is stronger than I am — he will kill 



NUMBERS 

me. {He seizes Marie and pulls her up, puts his 
hand under her chm and forces Iter head hack) He 
is weakening, weakening — he is going down. There 
are hundreds more coming, going. There are al- 
ways more coming. I must go on and on and on. . . 
{Pushes Marie aside and dashes for the 
door. As he readies it, the Major, followed 
by Madame, opens it. He grabs tJie Lieu- 
tenant by the wrists and holds him. Ma- 
dame rushes in and to Marie's side) 
The Major. Easy there, old man. It's all 
right. You're all right. 

Madame. I heard him say something about kill- 
ing her. 

{Helps Marie up) 
The Major. Fetch her some water. 

{The Lieutenant weakly succumbs and 

lets the Major push him into the chair by the 

table. Madame returns with water and puts 

Marie into the other chair) 

Madame. We were just in time. She's coming 

to. I heard him say something about killing her, 

and I looked in and saw him looking so wild. 

The Lieutenant. ( With the expressionless face 



NUMBERS 

of an idiot begins to talk weakly) There are more 
and more of them coming, a million, at least a hun- 
dred thousand — then more and more. They out- 
numbered us, I think. 

The Major. Come, come, keep yourself still now. 

The Lieutenant. Oh, yes. Major, you're right 

— physiology is physiology — I give you ten to one 
on my dreams. Numbers, only numbers count — 
one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten 

— eleven, one — no, twelve, thirteen. — numbers — 
I can't count them any more. One, two, three, four. 
{Mumbles to himself. Marie revives, and upon 
opening her eyes sees the Lieute:nant, who looks at 
her blankly. She shrinks back in terror; Madame 
quiets her) Numbers are what count — one, two, 
three, four . . . 

The Major. (Stands at the Lieutenant's side; 
shakes his head) A bad case of trench madness. I 
wonder what brought it on. They don't usually get 
it so long after they've been away. (Pats the Lieu- 
tenant's shoulder, who goes on mumbling numbers 
and counting) You'll need a long rest before you 
can be used again. 

CURTAIN 

29 



BETWEEN FIRES 
( With 0. F. Theu) 



CHARACTERS 



Mena. 

GuiDO, Tier former lover. 

LuiGi, her present lover. 



The scene is in the living room of a fisherman's hut 
on a hillside facing the harbor on one of the islands 
off the coast of Sicily. The decorations and furni- 
ture are primitive. Nets, ropes and other fishing 
equipment are scattered about. A colored picture 
of the Madonna hangs on the wall. In one corner 
stands an old-fashioned chest. Mena, a sinuous, 
fiery young "woman in native costume, is sitting on 
a stool mending a large fishing net. Luigi appears 
at the icindow by the door in the back. He looks in 
and knocks lightly. Mena starts as Luigi quickly 
enters the door; he is a tall, rather slight, picturesque 
young man. In the meantime an older and more 
sturdily built man stealthily looks in the window for 
a moment and disappears. 

(Luigi. (Impetuously) Mena! (Takes her in 
his arms) Mena ! 

Mena. What are you doing here? I thought 
you were hiding. (She looks about fearfully, as 
though sending another^s presence) Why did you 
come out? 

Luigi. To see you, Mena, my beloved \ I'd dare 
anything for you. 

35 



BETWEEN FIRES 

Mena. Sssh ! Not so loud. (Frees lierself from 
his embrace, goes to door, looks out anxiously, and 
then goes hack into his arms) We must be careful. 

LuiGi. Why, we're alone. Everybody is out at 
sea. The fish are running today — 

Mena. I know, but Guido — he — 

LuiGi. Guido went too. I watched his boat go 
out. 

Mena. But he is watching you. 

LuiGi. I'm not afraid. When the gendarmes 
tried to catch me over on the mainland, I fought off 
three of them — (Makes a gesticulation of depreca- 
tion) — with my oAvn hands and wits. 

Mena. (Proudly) Yes, I know. But Guido, 
he is big and strong. 

LuiGi. IMena, I am not afraid of him but of the 
king's customs officers. They came with the ship 
down there to take me. 

Mena. (Rushes to him and clings to him) I 
won't let them take you. 

LuiGi. I've given them the slip. Chased them 
over to the other end of the island. They are fools. 
(Significantly) But I must leave. 

Mena. (Unbelievingly) Leave .'' 
36 



BETWEEN FIRES 

LuiGi. Yes. The ship sails in an hour. I am 
going with it — the one they came on. 

Mena. Oh, no, no, no! 

LuiGi. And you are going with me. See. I have 
fixed that. {He pulls out two long strip-tickets from 
his vest-pocJcet and shows them to her) I thought 
they'd come soon and got ready. I thought Guido 
had tipped them off. 

Mena. (Taken aback) Guido! The dog! He 
thinks he can make me marry him. 

LuiGi. Marry him? (Laughs) Bah! But you 
don't love him. 

Mena. No, but I thought once I did before you 
came and I promised. He thinks he can make me if 
he gets you out of the way. 

LuiGi. I'll be out of his way, but not because of 
him. I have to go. 

Mena. But you can't go away from me. 

LuiGi. Then come. (iTnpulsively) Mena, come, 
I love you. 

Mena. But I can't leave so sudden. 

LuiGi. But don't you love me? 

Mena. Yes, yes, more than life. 

LuiGi. What else matters? 

37 



BETWEEN FIRES 

Mena. My father, my mother, my home, every- 
thing. I can't leave them like this. {Coaxingly) 
Ah, Luigi, you remember how we used to talk down 
there by the spring where I first met you. And 
how you used to say you'd stay here with me al- 
ways and never smuggle again and never go away 
again and become a fisherman like the rest of us — 

Luigi. But, I can't stay here now. Come, Mena, 
quick. They are after me. They'll catch me if I 
don't get out of the country. Come, we'll start 
out new far away from here. I won't have to smug- 
gle any more. We'll get rich, and then we'll come 
back. But now we must hurry. In an hour we'll 
be safe at sea. 

Mena. But I'm afraid away from here. I have 
never been away. 

Luigi. You don't want them to put me in prison. 
Do you.'' They always do that to smugglers. 

Mena. No, Luigi. No ! Not that \ 

Luigi. And you'll have to marry Guido. {Goes 
to door restlessly) I have got to go. 

Mena. {Resolutely) Then I'll go with you. 

Luigi. {Thankfully) Mena! {Kisses her) 
But quick. Pack up a few things. 
38 



BETWEEN FIRES 

(Mena goes into another room. Luigi 
stands alert, peering out of the window. 
Mena comes hack with her arins full of 
clothes, a vivid red cloak on top. She throws 
them on the chest hy the zcindow, hut holds 
the cloak, looking at it admiringly, and drap- 
ing herself in it poses to Luigi) 
Mena. Isn't it beautiful. I always wear it at 
feast days and dances. 

Luigi. But we can't take that. Only what's 
needed. 

IMena. (Disappointedly turns her hock to him 
and looks out of the window. Starts) What was 
that.? 

Luigi. (Turns quickly) Where.'' 
Mena. I thought I saw Guido's shadow in the 
bushes. 

Luigi. (Relieved, laughs) Guido, he's out at 
sea. But the gendarmes — no — they can't be back 
yet. But hurry. The ship is waiting at the pier. 

(Mena starts to pack her hundle, which 
begins to assume rather large proportions) 
Mena. But if Guido came back. I'm afraid of 
him. 

39 



BETWEEN FIRES 

(She holds up the red cloak, reluctant to 
leave it behind) 

LuiGi. {Intensely) Isn't your love greater than 
fear? 

Mena. Yes, but Guido may help the gendarmes. 

LuiGi. I know. That's why you must be quick. 
Come, I'll get another cloak when we land. Not so 
much! {Indicates bundle) Come! 

Mena. No, you go first. Guido says you have 
cast an evil eye on me and until the spell is broken 
he'll watch you. He's seen Antonia, the witch- 
woman, she who can make flowers dry up and fish 
die at sea. And she has given him something to take 
the spell off me. 

LuiGi. {Laughing) I'm not afraid of spells. 
There's only one spell — the spell of love — and the 
only spell is our love, yours and mine. No witch's 
curse can break that. It's a beautiful spell for all 
time. The fire of my love is like red sunsets. 

Mena. How fine you talk. {She kisses him) 
My Luigi ! 

LuiGi. {Urging her) Now, come. . . 

Mena. Yes, I'll come, but later — alone. It's 
safer. 
40 



BETWEEN FIRES 

LuiGi. But if you changed your mind and didn't 
come. 

Mena. (Passionately) How can you doubt? 
You, you are everA'thing. I'll never love anyone but 
you, I leave everything for you. 

LuiGi. Mena t 

Mena. It's to make sure never to lose you, I want 
this, now. Guido M^ould kill you if he saw us to- 
gether today. You go to the ship alone and wait 
for me. I'll leave as if to get water from the spring. 
I'll put my bundle in the pail so they can't see and 
I'll stop as though to watch the ship go. Then just 
as it is ready to sail we'll run up together. 

LuiGi. You will come. 

Mena. (Crossing herself) Yes t 

LuiGi. The whistle blows three times, I will 
stand down there. (Points) I can see the house, 
and when 3'ou close the door I know you have started. 
(Grimly) And if you aren't there by the second 
whistle, I'll come back and ... 

Mena. I'll be there. I swear it by the Madonna 
(Turns to picture) who protects from evil eyes. 

LuiGi. (Laughing, points to Ms eyes) Evil eye 
— r only love in my eyes — only the spell of love. 

41 



BETWEEN FIRES 

The witch-woman gave something to Guido to cure 
you. I take 3^ou. (Laughs) King's officers, 
Guido, evil eyes, nothing can keep us apart. 
{He starts to go off lightly) 
Mena. Sssh! Go easy — natural, nobody knows 
then. Walk slow. 

LuiGi. (Laughing) All right. You foolish, 
silly child. Now good-b^^e. (Is about to kiss her) 
No — good-b3'e we will say together from the ship. 
Ah, Mena. (Takes out the strip-tickets again) 
Here are the tickets. (With his head close to hers 
he reads) Messina, Palermo, then Gibraltar, good- 
hye to the sunny blue Mediterranean, then over the 
big water, ^^ou and I, Mena, to the new land — Amer- 
ica. . . 

Mexa. America — so far — America ! 
LuiGi. Yes, America ! There men are free. 
(Starts to go and stops in door) Don't foi'get to 
close the door when you start ! 

(LuiGi goes out. Mena pauses in the mid- 
dle of the room and utters the word " Amer- 
ica." She moves about nervously, trying to 
act naturally, but showing suppressed agita- 
tion. She puts the last toucJies on the bun- 
42 



BETWEEN FIRES 

die, puts the cloak on again, and wanders 
about saying good-bye to the familiar objects 
in the room. She stops in front of the Ma- 
donna, crosses herself, and kneels before it. 
She addresses the image: " Madonna Mia, 
protect my father and mother whom I am 
leaving forever today, forgive me for the hurt 
I am doing them ; Madonna Mia, give me all 
that is good." Tlie first whistle of the 
steamer is heard. She starts up. Sees the 
cottage-door closed by some invisible hand. 
She runs over to the door, and finds it locked 
from the outside. Unseen by her, Guido steps 
in through the window. He moves toward 
her from behind. She turns suddenly and 
they meet face to face. She screams) 

Guido. What's the matter.? 

Mena. {Controlling herself) You, Guido, you 
here.'' You scared me. 

Guido. You shouldn't be afraid of me. 

Mena. I'm not, but you scared me coming up 
behind like that. 

Guido. {Half sincerely) I'm sorry. 

Mena. Never mind. What did you close the 

43 



BETWEEN FIRES 

door for? (Guido laughs) Why aren't you fish- 
ing? 

GuiDO. I wanted to see you. 

Mena. I've told you I don't want to ever see your 
face again. 

Guido. It wasn't always that way. 

Mena. I don't care. It's so now. Go away ! 

Guido. You used to love me. You used to put 
your arms around me and kiss me, before that smug- 
gler from the mainland came. But they'll get him 
yet. 

Mena. He's not afraid. 

Guido. Bah ! They're all cowards at heart, those 
smugglers. Talk fine and brag! But I love you 
really, Mena, and the fire of my love is like the 
hearth's in winter time. I'm a fisherman, true and 
honest, like our fathers and fathers' fathers. You 
are a fisherman's daughter and we were to be mar- 
ried next Saint's da}^ That is as it should be. 

Mena. Go away, I hate you. 

Guido. (Striving hard to control himself) No, 
you love me. You can't help saying what you do 
because he's cast a spell on you. I know. That's 
what Antonia, the witch-woman, said. She's ^iven 
44 



BETWEEN FIRES 

me something to break it. {He tries to give Jier a 
small amulet) Take this and wear it next to your 
heart and you'll love me again. 

Mena. {Snatches the amulet and throws it out 
of window) Spell! {Laughs) There's only one 
spell and that's the spell of Luigi's love. There's 
no other spell. I don't want your love. {As though 
dismissing him) Go away. 

GuiDO. {Tensely) Never. I know what you 
mean to do — run away with Luigi today. {More 
softly) I might go and tell the gendarmes, but I'm 
going to give him a chance for your sake. I heard 
every word you said. 

Mena. {With contempt) You spied on us.'' 

GuiDO. You were going to walk down slowly as 
if to get some water, and hide the bundle in the pail, 
and run aboard the last minute. You were going 
to close the door when you started. The door is 
closed now and he thinks you have started. 

Mena. {Runs to the door and tries to open it) 
Oh I You coward. 

GuiDO. He thinks you have started and you won't 
come and he'll think you've fooled him and he'll go 
alone. 

45 



BETWEEN FIRES 

Mena. (Startled) No, he won't. {Pushes at 
door) Let me out. 

GuiDO. No, my little bride, you'll stay right here. 
(Mena moves back and forth while Guido watches 
her. She gets her back toward the cupboard and, 
standing against it, furtively opens a dratver, taking 
out a kitchen-knife, which slie conceals behind her. 
Suddenly she makes a dash at Guido, who catches 
her by the wrist. He takes tlie knife away and 
throws it out of tJie window after the amulet) 
That's a fine woman, a woman of spirit for me. I'll 
tame you when we are married. 

{He draws her into his arms. She strug- 
gles desperately for a moment and slips away 
from him) 

Mena. I'll kill you. Luigi will come back — he 
is coming back, yes — we'll kill you. 

Guido. {Enraged) You will.? {He seizes her 
around the waist and, picking up a piece of rope, 
ties her to a chair. Worn out by the struggle Mena 
sits limply. Guido, speaking more calmly) Now 
let liim come. I can meet him alone, and I am a 
fisherman, stronger than he is, that whipper-snapper 
of a smuggler. {The second whistle blows. Mena 
46 



BETWEEN FIRES 

starts. Gunio looks out of the xvmdow) They are 
getting ready to go now. {Taunts her) I don't 
see him. He's on board — waiting for you, and you 
are tied in a chair. When he has gone the spell 
will be broken. 

(Mena has struggled desperately to free 
herself. She is afraid for Luigi should he 
come back, and afraid that he may think she 
has deceived him) 

Mena. He will not go without me — he will 
come back. 

GuiDO. The gendarmes will get him if he doesn't 
go today. 

Mena. {Contemptuously) Gendarmes ! He's 
given them the slip before. 

GuiDO. Not if he comes back when I am here. 

Mena. {Desperately) Oh! 

GuiDO. But he won't come back — you will see 
that my love is stronger than his. 

Mena. You still love me, when I don't love you? 

GuiDO. {Passionately) Love you, Mena? It 
is only the spell he has cast on you. It won't last 
long. 

Mena. Love lasts forever. 

47 



BETWEEN FIRES 

GuiDO. Yes — and you loved me first. 

Mena. {Cunnmgly) So I did — you may be 
right, Giiido! 

GuiDO. {Eagerly) That's the way you used to 
say Guido. 

Mena. You really love me, Guido.'' 

Guido. Love you ! 

Mena. You say his love is only a spell.'' 

Guido. Yes — and the spell is breaking. 

Mena. How do you know when the spell is break- 
ing — Guido? 

Guido. When the old love is back in your voice 
as you speak my name. 

Mena. But if he comes back? 

Guido. If he comes back. 

Mena. You are so strong, Guido. 

Guido. I am like a baby in your hands, Mena. 

Mena. Is that why you tie me? {She looks at 
Jmn with soft eyes and turns out her hands) It 
hurts. 

Guido. {Solicitously and talcing her hands) 
Did I tie you too fast ? 

Mena. Guido — 
48 



BETWEEN FIRES 

{He is kneeling before lier and looks at her 
tenderly. She returns the look) 

GuiDO. {Trembling) Mena — you love me 
again — the spell is broken. Mena, I have hurt 
you. {Hastily loosens the rope) Mena ! 

{She listlessly submits to his caresses) 

Mena. {Slowly) I feel so strange. Don't look 
at me, Guido. 

GuiDO. Mena, my Mena ! 

Mena. Something is choking me — something is 
— it must be the evil spirit leaving my body. {She 
straightens up tensely and then relaxes) Guido! 

Guido. Mena ! The spell is breaking. 

Mena. What did the witch-woman give you? 

Guido. Mena ! 

Mena. Untie me. {Tries to touch him) Help 
me, Guido, Guido. {He loosens the rope completely. 
She rises and moves stiffly; staggers. His eyes fol- 
low her as she moves toward the wi/ndow) I can't 
breathe. Water, Guido. {He turns to get water 
for her. As he does so she casts a hasty glance out 
of the window. Taking the water, she staggers 
again. He helps her. Almost convulsively she goes 

49 



BETWEEN FIRES 

ifp.to his arms. He supports her. She murmurs) 
Guido, Guido. (Mena is facing the door when 
LuiGi passes the wimdoxv. She sees him. He is at 
the door in a moment and opens it. Stands amazed 
at seeing Mena in Guido's arms. She cries out) 
Luigi, help. (She clutches her arms around Guido's 
neck to hamper him. Guido turns, sees Luigi, and 
pushes Mena from him. TJie two men approach 
each otlier and grapple. Luigi is getting worsted. 
Mena tries to help him. Sudderdi/ she sees the net. 
There is a break in the struggle. She slips behind 
Guido, throws the net over his Jiead and shoulders. 
He becomes entangled in it and falls to the ground. 
Mena runs for Jier bundle and picks it up rvith her 
red cloak. Guido reaches through the mesh of the 
net and catclies lier skirt. She stamps on his hand) 
Luigi, Luigi, quick, quick, the ship is waiting — for 
America. 

{They rwn off) 

CURTAIN 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 



CHARACTERS 



An Old Man. 
A Young Man. 
Passersby. 



It is in Independence Square on a warm June 
night. Through the trees the State Hoii^e can he 
seen; the illuminated clock m the tower shows dis- 
tinctly. Arc-lights, now flickering, now sputtering, 
reflect huge shadows of leaves and branches on the 
pavement. On each of the benches which line the 
path in the foreground, except one, the figures of 
sleeping men are seen. Some are stretched out, oc- 
cupying a bench alone; others are sitting slouchily 
with their heads sunk in their chests, two and three 
on a bench. On the Tiearest bench to the right sits 
an Old Man. His clothes are slovenly and he has 
drawn his dirty felt hat over his eyes. On the other 
end of the bench sits a Young Man. He wears a 
soft black hat and a soft shirt, and his suit shows 
an indifference to clothes. 

The time is past midnight. At intervals the drone 
of street cars and their creaking as they start and 
stop is heard. OccasioTially delivery-wagons rattle 
noisily over the cobble-stones and trolley-tracks on 

55 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

tJie streets bordering the square. The hoarse sound 
of river-boat whistles comes now from nearby and 
then from farther away. 

The Young Man's attitude is one of nervousness, 
which his sensitive features betray. The Old Man 
is sitting sideways in a careless posture, propping 
his head up on one hand. A Passerby on his way 
home notices the two men despite his hurry. They 
hardly regard him. Presently the Young Man stirs 
impatiently. Tlie Old Man looks up without any 
show of interest. 

Old Man. {After a pause gets out an old pipe 
and a bag of tobacco. He fumbles in his pocket for 
a match) Got a match, stranger? 

Young Man. {Reaches into his coat pocket and 
hands one to the Old Man) Hold that a minute. 
It's the last one I got. 

{He takes out a cigarette, which he has 
been carrying loose in his pocket) 

Old Man. {Quietly) Little more cheerful with 
the old pipe goin'. 

{He lights the pipe and hands the burn- 
ing match to the Young Man) 

Young Man. Yes, for about five minutes. 
56 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

Old Man. Well, that's somethin'. It's a couple 
a hours yet afore daylight. 

Young Man. Are you waiting for daylight? 
Old Man. Not waitin' — I'm not waitin' for any- 
thing, but I know daylight will come. 

Young Man. (Shrugs his shoulders, dissatisfied) 
Urn — 

Old Man. Of course, it'll come, and then another 
night. Be funny if daylight didn't come once and 
everybody'd wake up and find it was the same as 
when they went to bed. Folks'd think the end of 
the world had come and be afraid they was dead. 

(The idea amuses him. The Young Man 
does not ansxver. He seevis to he lost in his 
own thoughts. Four young people, two boys 
and two girls, chattering loudly, approach. 
One GiEL says, " Let's take a boat-ride Sun- 
day." They lower their voices in passing 
and can he heard laughing after they have 
disappeared down the path) 
Young Man. (Half to himself) They are wait- 
ing for Sunday to come. 

Old Man. (Changes his position and after scru- 
tinizing the face of his companion straightens up) 

57 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

Young feller, I've sat on park-benches for near 
onto fifteen years, and I'm figurin' you're doing it 
for the first time. Did you lose your job? 

Young Man. {Abruptly) No — I've got a job. 

Old Man. {A quizzical expression not without a 
touch of humor appears on his face) Been crossed 
in love.'' 

Young Man. No — there are other reasons why 
people sit on park-benches. I don't know what yours 
is and you will not understand mine. 

Old Man. Mebbe you don't think. The real 
reason is about the same. I ain't lost no job — 
didn't have any to lose — or anyhow I could get one 
if I wanted to, and crossed in love ain't the reason 
neither. (Young Man looks at him as if about to 
say something, but remains silent) When you first 
sat down here, I saw you sort of stop and I thinks 
to myself you was on your way to the Delaware 
River down there, but you sort of ain't got the cour- 
age. I started for a river once myself. The world 
and me had an argument. I felt about the same 
as you do. I got as far as jumpin' in the water 
and then a bum of a stevedore pulled me out. That 
set me thinkin'. Nobody'd known he seen me 
58 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

jumpin' in, and I've often wondered why he both- 
ered to pull me out. 

Young Man. And now you want to sort of pull 
me out of the river — you want to talk me out of 
jumping in. 

Old Man. Then, it was right that you was 
thinkin' about doin' it? 

Young Man. (Assuming carelessness) It will 
help the conversation if I say so. 

Old Man. Talkin' it over won't do no harm. 
You can still jump in afterwards. I suppose you 
don't think I'm much of a prospect to offer you 
against jumpin' in the river. I just told you I've 
been sittin' on benches for near fifteen years. You 
hadn't thought of that as an argument. 

Young Man. Arguments haven't anything to do 
with what a man does, whether it is kill himself or 
buy a breakfast. 

Old Man. You're right about that — you got 
an old head on young shoulders. 

Young Man. And since I have an old head I 
might as well die. My body has nothing in store 
for it except the grave and worms ; physical pleas- 
ures don't interest, me. 

59 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

Old Man. (Ironically) Arguments ! (The 
Young ]\Ian looks at him quickly, tJien laughs ap- 
preciatively. A pause follows, during which he 
seems to he trying to phrase an answer. The Old 
Man sticks his fore-finger into the bowl of the pipe) 
You ain't got no more matches, have you? 

Young Man. These cheerful five minutes of the 
pipe have passed. 

Old Man. Rather cheerfully. (A scrub-woman 
on her way to work drags wearily past. Her face is 
tired and wan. The Old Man follows her with his 
eyes) I feel sorry for her — looks as if she had a 
baby coming, too. 

Young Man. I feel sorrier for the baby. (He 
gets up nervously, walks a few steps and then sits 
down again) Oh, it is all useless. I left the old 
country inspired by the stories of the new world. 
I came here to the great democracy, the land of 
equality, of opportunity. Our history books in the 
chapter about America told a lot about the freedom 
and glory that rang out on a bell. I came here with 
that sound in my ears — but that bell doesn't ring 
any more. There is a crack in the bell. They said 
any man could be president here ; I felt that I could 
60 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

conquer the world. Hah! I started in as a waiter 
and saved my money to study at nights in the uni- 
versity. I found nothing there — (Deliberately) 
They are merely waiters of another kind. 

Old Man. And so you thought you might as 
well end it all. Instead of becoming a waiter your- 
self — you thought you might find something in 
death. 

Young Man. (Buries his liead m his hands) 
And you make me think there is nothing to end — 
that life is living death. (A Laborer passes, look- 
ing curiously at the two men) He's happier than 
we are. 

Old Man. And when he comes home to his dirty 
house and a naggin' wife, he'll think of us and say 
we're happier than he is. 

Young Man. (Sardonically) That's poor con- 
solation, or are you trying to convince me that my 
lot is not so bad? 

Old Man. Oh, I don't know — I've lived a while 
longer than you have. 

Young Man. Is that offered as something to 
live for.!^ 

Old Man. (Sharply) I ain't offering nothin' 

61 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

(After a pause) You was just thinkln' about that 
liberty bell over there what rang out a fine song 
for freedom and then cracked. I started out a fine 
young man, too, like you, and I cracked — and you'd 
better stop ringing now or you'll crack too. 

Young Man. Wliich is rather a picturesque way 
of describing disillusionment. 

Old Man. Call it what you like. {The clock in 
the State House tower strikes one. The Old Man 
turn^ sloxiiy and looks at it) Half past twelve. 
You can't tell now without lookin' if it's half past 
twelve, or one o'clock or half past one. 

Young Man. Does it make any difference? 

Old Man. Funny how time passes. Have you 
ever tried to catch time.'^ {Chuckles) It's a funny 
feeling. {Leans forward as if tryvng to do it in 
his mind) Pesky feelin', just like a mosquito that 
buzzes in your ear and you slap at it and miss it. 
But I'll bet some of them scientists will do that yet. 

Young Man. You mean, think they'U do it. An- 
other illusion. Time goes on and on to nowhere — 
everything goes on to nowhere. 

Old Man. 'Cept us. We stop some time. 

Young Man. Yes — even while we are alive, some 
62 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

of us. The people fooled themselves a long time 
into believing there was a heaven or hell after this. 

Old Man. And there's lots of 'em yet who does. 

Young Man. Do you? 

Old Man. I don't know. We'll find out when 
we die. 

Young Man. And you stop me when I seek to 
find the answer in death. 

Old Man. It'll come anyhow. There ain't no 
hurry. 

Young Man. But in the meantime — this eternal 
nothingness of life. 

Old Man. Do somethin' else. 

Young Man. What.? 

Old Man. Anything — I don't know. I'm sit- 
tin' around watching the show. Sometimes it's in- 
teresting and sometimes it ain't. I've been thinkin' 
of goin' West. 

Young Man. West? Is it any different there? 

Old Man. Mebbe not, but I'm kind a gettin' 
restless myself. I've got to be goin' somewhere and 
doin' somethin'. 

Young Man. (Suddenly) I'll go with you. 
I'd like to try your way — maybe. 

63 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

Old Man. Listen, young feller — I'm like that 
liberty bell. I'm cracked — I don't ring any more. 
I got folks as remember me when I was a fine strong 
3^oung man like you, just like as folks used to re- 
member that old bell and make a relic out of it. 
When that bell was ringin' they had a lot of fine 
dreams about liberty and democracy. They saw it 
all as if it was already, but there ain't no more lib- 
erty now than there ever was. 

Young Man. But I can take care of you — 
you're not young any more. {Interested) It 
would be doing something. 

Old Man. Take care of me, as if I was an old 
relic. Like hell \ You ain't cracked yet. You ain't 
got time to bother with an old man like me. 

Young Man. But the old bell is well taken care 
of. 

Old Man. By the State and a lot of old dames. 
So I'll be taken care of by the State or a lot of old 
dames — in prison or a poorhouse. 

Young Man. I wonder if that is pessimism or 
optimism ? 

Old Man. It's horse-sense. How many thinks 
64 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

of what that old bell stands for except in Fourth of 
July speeches and history books? 

Young Man. But . . . 

Old Man. But what? You know I got a theory 
— the Bible says let your answer be yea or nay. 

Young Man. Oh, Lord — you're going to re- 
peat some tawdry platitude you heard in a mission 
while you were getting in out of the rain — 

Old Man. (Continuing) But that ain't my 
doctrine. There is always a but and it's a good 
thing. 

Young Man. You are wiser than the Bible? 

Old ]\1an. No — but just the same, if there 
hadn't been no but you'd be in the river now. 
(There is a pause. The clock in the tower strikes 
one) What time do you go to work in the mornin'? 

Young Man. Eight o'clock. 

Old Man. It's one o'clock now — and I didn't 
have to look at the clock to know it. 

Young Man. (Slowly) I think I understand 
what you mean. 

Old Man. I mean you had better go home and 
get some sleep. 

65 



THE CRACK IN THE BELL 

Young Man. Yes! {Resolutely) I will jump 
in the river tomorrow — but not the Delaware — 
the river of life, where the torrent is strongest, and 
I shall flow with it wherever it may lead. But I 
want to see you again. {Rises) Where will you be 
tomorrow ? 

Oi-D jNIan. {Looks at him quizzically) I dunno. 
Lookin' for the fountain of youth. 
{Turns and looks away) 



curtain 



66 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 



CHARACTERS 

BuTWELL Sharp, A Professor of literature and au- 
thor of books on folklore. 
Ernest, His nepJiezc and a student in his classes. 
Elsie. 



The place is Nezv York; the time is three vn- the 
morning; the scene is Professor Sharp's bedroom. 
Moonlight streams in through a window, illuminating 
a section right side of the room and disclosing a 
sort of sleeping-porch or alcove built out from the 
right wall. Through the partly separated curtains 
of the alcove a bed can be seen, the contour of its 
covers showing it to be occupied. Moonlight through 
another window falls upon a big center-tahle over 
which a large enveloping cover is spread. An arm- 
chair stands in front of the table, at an angle slightly 
facing it. A straight-bached chair stands in the 
light of tlie window beside the alcove. Upon this is 
a glass of water. A lamp stands on the center-table. 
A wide, curtained doorway leads to the hall. The 
entire room is equipped with gymnastic apparatus, 
such as dumb-bells, Indian-clubs, weights, a medicine- 
ball, etc. The arrangement of this is indifferent ex- 
cept that near the alcove stajids a " horse " and 
across the room, from this a punching bag is sus- 
pended. 

71 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

Presently Ernest and Elsie appear at the door- 
way in an attitude of caution. Ernest is garbed in 
a fantastic costume of no particular description. 
Elsie represents Columbine. Both wear masks. 
The figure in the bed stirs. 

Ernest. Shissh — wait a minute. 

{He enters the room carefully and pulls 
the shade down. Starts to do same next to 
the alcove when he kicks over some Indiam, 
clubs with a clatter. Elsie is frightened and 
disappears. Ernest crowds against the wall. 
Pause. Ernest then looks out of the door- 
way and beckons to tJie girl, conveying the 
idea to her that it will be all right for her to 
sit down and wait. Then he proceeds to win- 
dow at right. He looks out a moment, 
breathing deeply. Laughs to himself and, 
not thinking, he sits down upon the glass of 
water. The fall of breaking glass is heard. 
Half loud he exclaims, " Wow ! " He hurries 
across the room and squats behind the arm- 
chair. There is a commotion in the bed. 
Presently a scholarly and owl-like, but fright- 
ened head, appears between the curtains. 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

Sharp. Who — who — who's there? 
Ernest. (Aside) Good Lord! 
Sharp. Who — who — ? 
Ernest. Whoo — whoo — said the owl. 
Sharp. What's the matter — who is there.'' 
Ernest. (In sepulchral tones) No one — you 
are alone. 

Sharp. (His head disappears for a moment and 
then he looks out again, holding a revolver shakily. 
Ernest crazds under the table. Sharp cautiously 
emerges from the bed. He is clad in noticeably blue 
pajamas. He steps into the reater from the over- 
turned glass) Ouch — what's that on the floor.'* 

(He half gets back into bed and then re- 
turns forth, looking under the bed. He ven- 
tures farther out and quickly turns on mall- 
light by alcove. Sharp fairly trembles as 
he moves toward table sideways, facing the 
door. He advances suspiciously. Ernest is 
seen to peer out between folds of table-cover) 
Ernest. (Reaching out his hand he strokes 
Sharp's leg admiringly) What wonderful blue pa- 
jamas. (Sharp jumps, screams, drops revolver and 
dives rapidly back into the bed. Ernest crawls 

73 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

from under the table and picks up revolver) Did I 
frighten you? 

Sharp. Who, who are you — who are you, who, 
who —r 

Ernest. (Toys with revolver) To-whit-to- 
whoo. 

Sharp. (Frightened) Look out with the gun. 
(Ernest throrcs it on the table) The jeweh-y is all 
in my wife's bedroom. 

Ernest. 

I care not for gems or gold that glitters. 
My wealth is a jest and bird-song twitters. 

Sharp. (Coming out) So it is you.-* 

Ernest. No, it is not. You think you recog- 
nize my voice and person. They are me, I admit, 
but the spirit is new. 

Sharp. (Angrily) What do you mean by try- 
ing to scare me? 

Ernest. (Innocently) Did I scare you? 

Sharp. I suppose you think this a practical 
joke? 

Ernest. You are wrong, Uncle. (Whimsically) 
This is far from a practical joke. It is an impracn 
tical joke — a fanciful joke. 
74 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

Sharp. (Near him, suspiciously) Ernest, you 
have been drinking. You are drunk. 

Ernest. (Ecstatically) Drunk — perhaps — 
Be drunken, saith Baudelaire — be drunken with 
wine, with women or with song — with one or with 
all, but be drunk. Yes, I am drunk, but not as you 
think. 

Sharp. Don't talk so loud — you'll wake Aunt 
Rachel — and I don't want her to see her sister's 
son in tliis condition. (Reproachfully) And she 
sent you to live in my house and attend the uni- 
versity where I am professor that you should not 
fall into bad habits. 

Ernest. Don't cry. Uncle — 

Sharp. Where have you been? Tell me. You 
have been in bad company. 

Ernest. Uncle — how can you say that — bad 
company — but 3'ou don't know. 

Sharp. It is my duty to the family to get at the 
bottom of this. Sit down there and tell me the 
truth from the beginning. 

Ernest. Gee, but you look funny in blue pa- 
jamas — they almost match your eyes. 

Sharp. Do as I tell you. You needn't incrim- 

75 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

inate your fellow-students, but tell me what you have 
been doing. You were all right when you left your 
Aunt Rachel and me after supper to go to your room 
and study. 

Ernest. No, I was not all right. But I shall 
tell 3^ou the truth from the beginning. As you say, 
I went to m}^ room to study for your examination 
tomorrow — the examination in medieval folklore. 
(Sharp is sitting behind the table, Ernest in the 
arm-chair) I studied your book — here it is 
(Picks it up off table) The tenth chapter — en- 
titled " Till Eulenspiegel "— 

Sharp. Come, come — don't waste time over non- 
essentials. 

Ernest. But, Uncle, this is very essential. Ah 
— I read this chapter — it is masterful. " Till Eu- 
lenspiegel and His Merry Pranks " — here it is writ- 
ten. (Becomes enthusiastic and reads) " Till Eu- 
lenspiegel is the embodiment of the spirit of rebellion 
against conservatism and tradition, the perverse 
mocker of accepted standards. Till Eulenspiegel 
represents the greatest single factor towards the 
emancipation of mind in the middle ages." Ah — 
and what pranks he played. 
76 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

Sharp. Come, come; I will not have you jesting 
at me and my book. 

Ernest. (Laughs) Ah, but I must. That is 
the point. {Loudly) I am Till Eulenspiegel to- 
night. 

Sharp. (Ill at ease) Keep quiet or you'll waken 
Aunt Rachel. 

Ernest. She sleeps too soundly, Uncle and Pro- 
fessor — embodiment of conservatism and tradition. 
Yes, I read in your book about Till Eulenspiegel — 
I could not study any more. Congratulations ! 
How attractive you make him. You were inspired 
when you wrote it. And it inspired me. I knew 
there was a masked-ball to be given by artists to- 
night. Good-bye to study, good-bye to traditions. 
Thither I would go and be Till Eulenspiegel — see, 
I improvised this costume and then I went, inspired 
by your book. Ah, Uncle, it was living your book. 
A merry prank. 

I stepped on fat men's feet, 
Poked them in their paunches ; 
These tricks I would repeat, 
Kick them on their haunches. 
Where women wear no hose, 

77 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

But are not less refined, 
I made a mental nose, 
At study and the grind. 
A fat colonial dame. 
Was partner in a dance; 
I revelled without shame. 

Sharp. Ernest, what has come over you? This 
is positively disgusting, but go on — 

Ernest. Ah, yes ! I will pass that colonial 
dame by. Ah — then I found Columbine at the 
dance. Here you tell about her too in your book — 
the eighth chapter. Ah, Columbine, she was lovelier 
than I dreamed. Such eyes, such hair, such grace. 
Ah, Italy, it was your Venice on a moonlit night that 
gave us Columbine. It was Venice. I know — 
don't say no, don't cite facts. It was Venice. She 
was dressed — Ah — Uncle, it was like a dream. 
{Suddenly) No — Columbine was real. I brought 
her with me. {Goes to doorway quickly, disappears, 
arid calls) Columbine — sweet Columbine. 

Sharp. {Completely dumbfounded) Ernest, 
come back here. Keep still, be careful, you will wake 
Aunt Rachel. 
78 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

Ernest. {Returns with his arms around 
Elsie) 

I found her half-asleep 
Here in the hallway-chair, 
The moonlit night would weep, 
If it were half as fair. 

Sharp. {Utterly confused, but indignant) Who 
is this woman? 

Ernest. {Presenting them to each other) Co- 
lumbine — Uncle — Columbine, about whom you 
wrote a whole chapter. 

Sharp. Ernest, take that creature away from 
here. 

Ernest. Wait! {Seizes a piece of paper from 
table and rapidly makes a cone) There, Uncle! 
{Puts it on Sharp's head) Now you are Pierrot. 
Your blue pajamas make an admirable costume. 
{Puts Elsie's hand in Sharp's) I'll go. {Assum- 
ing an attitude of dejection) I'll be Harlequin, sad 
Harlequin, who always is cheated. 

Sharp, {Angrily dropping Elsie's hand and 
throwing cap on the floor) You shameless profli- 
gate, you — 

79 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

Ernest. Fie on you ! (Picks up cap) Then I 
must again be Till Eulenspiegel and finish my merry 
prank. 

Elsie. (Bored, to Ernest) Say, funny fellow, 
I'm awfully sleepy — 

Sharp. (Interrupting, to Elsie) What do you 
want here.'' 

Elsie. I want to go to bed. 

Sharp. Get out of here, you hussy — 

Elsie. (Bristling) Hussy — I want you to 
know — 

Ernest. (Conciliatory) Tush, sweet Colum- 
bine ! He is a professor and he spoke that word in 
its Shakespearean capacity. 

Elsie. (Somewhat mollified, to Sharp) Any- 
how, I'm not walking before strange women in my 
pajamas — even if I do want to go to bed. 

Ernest. (Patti/ng her) 

Poor little Columbine 
Weary from too much wine. 
The grapes that for you bled — 

(As if hunting for a rhyme) 

Ah here, sweet, here is a bed. 
80 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

{He leads her over to Sharp's bed. Pushes 
her into the alcove and draws the curtain) 
Sharp. For God's sake, Ernest! This is going 
too far. 

Ernest. (Pushes Sharp back. Puts his fmger 
to his lips) 

Sleep sweetly and dream 
Kissed by moonlight beam ; 
Drive your fancy's team 
Where only moonrays gleam. 

Sharp. Nephew — take that female out of my 
bed. Good Heavens ! What if Aunt Rachel came 
in here now. 

Ernest. Till Eulenspiegel's wits work fast. I 
have already thought of that. If Aunt Rachel came 
in here now, she would think Columbine was your 
mistress. 

Sharp. (Outraged) My mistress ! 

Ernest. Why not? You — (Shakes his head) 
have been married twenty years. 

Sharp. Ernest, how dare you say such things? 
This is a respectable house. I am a respectable 
man. 

81 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

Ernest. 

But what did Eulensplegel care 
For damned respectability — 
You wrote it in that book right there, 
When Till was not yet known to me. 

Shaep. I shall throw you both out of the house. 

Ernest. (Halts him) Tush, Uncle — you dare 
not wake Columbine when she sleeps. 

Sharp. I shall call the police and . . . 

Ernest. (Breaking in) And wake up Aunt 
Rachel. Then Till Eulenspiegel will go piff, paff, 
poof, and disappear and Aunt Rachel will find Co- 
lumbine in your bed. 

Sharp. (Desperately) Oh! (Pauses) But 
think of my reputation. 

Ernest. It is too good already — Uncle. 

Sharp. Don't you call me Uncle any more. 
Take that woman and leave this house at once — go. 

Ernest. Where to ? — Out into the cold Decem- 
ber morn ? And Aunt Rachel — may she snore on 
— asked a blessing at dinner tonight on all the poor 
homeless creatures who wander the streets at night. 
Charity should begin at home. 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

Sharp. But, Ernest, listen to reason — my 
whole night's rest is gone. 

Ernest. Never mind — mine has not yet be- 
gun. {Pulls a flask from his pocket and takes a 
drink) Come, have a drink, too. It will quiet your 
nerves. 

Sharp. I never touched a drop. 
Ernest. Then have a cigarette. 
Sharp. I never smoked. (Protests loudly) 
Put that awa}^, I won't allow you to drink liquor in 
my house. 

Ernest. Do not shout so or you yourself will 
wake Aunt Rachel. 

Sharp. My patience is exhausted. 

(Walks around room and then starts for 
the bed. Ernest quickly wheels the gym- 
nastic " horse " before the bed and mounts it, 
blocking him) 

Ernest. 

I am a brave crusader now 

Who breaks his lance on pedantry ; 

Conventions have to make a bow. 

I've snapped their chains and set life free. 

83 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 
Giddap ! 

I shall fight against their cursed hold 
Upon the world and mind of men ; 
No ancient knight can be more bold 
Than I against commandments ten. 

Giddap ! 

Come ride with me to poetry 
And be yourself just once again 
And hang your damned propriety 
Before the moon begins to wane. 

Giddap ! 

Come, ho, jump on this hobby-horse 
And ride with me my fancy's course ; 
You say I am not fully wise 
And think it meant for exercise. 

Sharp. Ernest, be quiet — that drink has made 
you crazy. You are drunk. 

Ernest. Yes, drunk with wine and woman and 
a bit of poetry. {Halts in his ride) 
84? 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

My rhymes are poor and metre worse 
I merely sing a made-up song. 
Now let me drive a prosy hearse 
Of words that slowly trail along. 
I'll follow common intercourse, 
Dismounting now gymnastic horse. 

{Dismounts) Listen, Uncle. {Pushes him in a 
chair) You must listen to me — a word and I shall 
become Till Eulenspiegel again and call for Aunt 
Rachel — so that she will hear me, though she sleeps 
so soundly, with doors and windows shut. But for 
the moment I philosophize. I will talk in your own 
terms. Uncle, you are too innocent — yes, inno- 
cent, though you are a married man. You have 
missed half of your life. For twenty years you have 
not had a new sensation or lived a new experience. 
You are ignorant. Uncle, an ignorant scholar. Here 
I am but twenty-two years old and how much more 
I know than you. I have not lived as long but I 
have lived twice as much — yes, in your own house. 
You have merely lived days and years. You have 
gotten up at six-thirty every morning and pulled 
these weights twenty times, then punched this bag 

85 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

for three minutes. You have gone to bed at ten 
every night and slept eight and a half hours. You 
have never altered this routine for twenty years. 
The day is for you what it is for this alarm-clock. 
{Picks it up) Look it in the face and see yourself. 
The night has been nothing to you except sleep and 
drinks of water. You open your window so that an 
army of imaginary microbes may be overcome by so 
many cubic feet of oxygen. You have never opened 
it to look out into the mystery of the moonlit night. 
You have never been drunk with wine or woman or 
song. And Aunt Rachel — has it been fear of her 
that made you deny every impulse — or has it been 
the great God Respectability? (Walks excitedly 
over to punching -hag) Good God, you have never 
hit this punching-bag {Gives it a blow which re- 
sounds noisily) just for the sake of hitting it. 

Sharp. For Heaven's sake, Ernest, you will 
awaken Aunt Rachel. Be reasonable now, my boy, 
and go to bed. I will agree not to say a word and 
consider the incident closed. I'll give you another 
chance. 

Ernest. Give me another chance.'' It is I who 
86 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

am giving you your chance. Tell me, don't you 
want to live, to feel — 

Sharp. You are not in a condition to talk rea- 
sonably tonight. 

Ernest. (Shouts) And I don't want to talk 
reasonably ! I believe in folly. I want to save you 
from yourself. I cannot endure this suppression 
longer. 

Sharp. (A door is heard slamming off stage) 
What was that.'' 
Ernest. What? 

Sharp. Oh, my God, Rachel has heard us. She 
is coming. Quick, turn out the light \ (He does so 
himself) Get under the table ! (He shoves Ernest 
on floor and himself dashes into the alcove. There 
is a moment's pause; then a scream from the alcove, 
and Sharp comes howncing out) My God, I can't 
stay in there — with that woman. 

(Sharp crawls under th^ table. Ernest 
in the Tnecmtime has come out from under tJie 
table and is seen moving toward the doorway 
in back) 
Ernest. (Looking out the door) 

87 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

'Twas nothing but the wind 
A-playing with a blind. 

Elsie. (Commg out of alcove, drowsily) What's 
the matter? 

Ernest. Ah, Columbine — he disturbed your 
sleep. That deserves punishment. {Picks up book) 
" Till Eulenspiegel and His Merry Pranks." His vic- 
tims were parsons and pedants. Professor, now you 
are his victim. 

Sharp. For God's sake, Ernest, if Aunt Rachel 
came in here now.? 

Ernest. And saw you in your pajamas.'* 
(Looks at Elsie) I wish she had come — she shall 
come. I shall wake her out of her hippopotamus 
sleep. Till Eulenspiegel will not have a sorry end- 
ing to his prank. {Seizes him and Elsie) Come 
with us, Uncle. 

Sharp. Let me go ! {He tries to push Elsie 
out of the door hut she in her drowsiness clings to 
him with her arms around him. Sharp struggles 
to free himself) Let go of me ! Get out of 
here ! 

Ernest. {Standing aside and looking on) 
88 



THERE'S A DIFFERENCE 

Sweet Columbine 
Your arms entwine 
A pillar, ah me! 
Of Society. 

Sharp. (Pushing Elsie from him) Get out of 
here! 

Elsie. {Pouting) Ugh, but you're a nasty old 
man. What kind of a place is this anyhow? 

Ernest. You cast Columbine from you, you ad- 
here to tradition and conventions ? Answer me ! 

Sharp. I am a decent man. 

Ernest. Ah, then, so be it. There's a differ- 
ence — I see. It depends on the age when it hap- 
pened and to whom. Yes, there's a difference. 
Then tradition it shall be, I shall likewise live up 
to the traditions of Till Eulenspiegel. (Pushes 
Elsie in chair) Aunt Rachel ! I shall play my 
merry prank. Aunt Rachel — then piff, paff, poof 
— I shall disappear. (Goes off calling loudly) 
Aunt Rachel, Aunt Rachel. 

CURTAIN 



89 



LIKE A BOOK 



CHARACTERS 

Otis Davis, an artist. 

Nora, Ms mfe. 

Fay Forrest, another artist. 

Grant Link, a newspaperman. 

Dash, 1 two habitants of Greenwich Village, New 

Felice, j York City. 

The Defendant. 



The scene is a studio-apartment and a section of 
the hallway leading to it. The room is furnished 
mith greater emphasis upon apartment than studio. 
A faint light burns in the hallway. At the rise of 
the curtain, Davis, Fay, Link and Felice are seen 
lounging about the room. Dash is sitting at a 
piano with his back turned to it. All give the im- 
pression of waiting for some one. 

Davis. (Looking at his watch) Nora ought to 
be here b}^ now. 

Fay. Oh, you know Nora Is always late. 

Davis. As the charming Nora's only husband I 
am quite aware of that — only this time it is un- 
usually late, 

Felice. Oh! we might as well wait a while yet. 
Let me have a cigarette. Dash — no, I don't like 
yours. Grant, what kind have you.^^ 

(Link throws her a box of cigarettes) 

Davis. I can leave a note and tell her to meet us 
at the Brevoort. 

Link. (Looks at his watch) We might as well 
wait here — we won't get a table for a half hour. 

95 



LIKE A BOOK 

There are always a lot of people who leave around 
ten. They turn that place over like a movie-house 
Sunday nights — three times. 

Davis. All right, then, we'll wait here. By the 
way, Grant, have you seen Edgar Moreau's new 
book ? 

Link. No, but I want to get it. I hear it goes his 
last one, one better. 

Davis. {Going to the center table and picking up 
book) I got a copy yesterday. 

Fay. {Joining him) What's the title, I want to 
read it ? 

Davis. " Good and Evil." 

Felice. Oo ! That sounds good. 

Dash. Ha ! Ha ! — and is probably very wicked. 
{Turns and bangs the piano) 

Link. {To Fay, who is turning the leaves of the 
book) I thought. Fay, that you couldn't see why 
everybody raved about Moreau. 

Fay. Nor can I, but I'm fair enough not to judge 
without reading. 

Davis. Also curious enough. 

(Fay sticks her tongue out at Davis) 

Link. Have you read it, Otis ? 
96 



LIKE A BOOK 

Davis. No, — I haven't got very far. Nora's 
reading it first. 

Felice. To pass on it and see whether it's all 
right for friend husband? 

Link. I am going to get it tomorrow and see 
whether it is good enough for the Anti-Vice Society 
to suppress. If it is, I shall buy ten copies. You 
know I happened to have two copies of " Homo 
Sapiens " given to me and when it was suppressed I 
sold them for a lot of money each. 

Davis. You don't really mean that. 

Dash. Say, that's a great idea. Let's organize 
a " Down With Dirty Books Society," write them 
ourselves, then suppress them and sell at a 500 per 
cent profit. I'll be the chief taster of the firm. 
That'll be high finance. 

Fay. Have you ever run into this man Moreau, 
Grant? 

Link. No, he's not the kind that shows himself 
at things newspapers report or Vigilantes organize. 

Felice. I'd like to meet him. They say he 
knows women like a book. 

Dash. Like a hook is probably right. 

Fay. For once your flippancy shows sense. 

97 



LIKE A BOOK 

Everybody says this man Moreau is a master realist, 
but he doesn't know women as they are. 

Link. Now don't say that, Fay, I think Moreau 
has the stuff. 

Fay. Oh, yes, like all these men who they say 
know women, he has probably had no experience with 
them. Those men that have, don't claim to know 
them. 

Davis. Well, I don't presume to know women, 
but Nora seems to think he gets right down to facts. 

Dash. If I were Nora, I wouldn't admit that. 
He isn't very complimentary to women. 

Link. Oh, I wouldn't go as far as to say that. 
Moreau isn't a woman-hater like Strindberg. He 
has more balance and reality. Strindberg would 
make you think that women are only walking illus- 
trations for Freud's theory of dreams ; that the sexes 
are enemies and that women positively make men 
their prey. 

Dash. That's just as nutty as the Suffering Sob- 
Sisters who want to make you believe that men prey 
on women. 

Felice. I've never read Moreau ; which way does 
he look on the subject.'' 
98 



LIKE A BOOK 

Davis. Neither one nor the other. He rather 
gives the circumstances and lets you judge yourself. 

Fay. Yes, but he always colors the circum- 
stances to throw the blame on the woman — 

Link. You mean discolors the circumstances.'' 

Fay. Distorts them. I'll bet you that in any 
instance where a fair jury decided, it could be sho^vn 
that women are more preyed upon than men. 

Dash. Lord ! I thought you were going to quote 
that famous old melodrama, " More Preyed upon 
Than Preying." 

Link. I don't agree with you. Fay. Maybe 
newspaper work twisted my sense of values but I 
can always find a little fault on both sides. 

(Dash turns around and plays : " There's 
A Little Bit of Bad in Every Good Little 
Girl") 

Felice. Oh, Dash, can't you be serious? This 
is really an interesting discussion. 

Dash. Oh, bosh — you will all talk seriously un- 
til doomsday and not get anywhere. If there is any- 
thing I hate it is a group of serious thinkers. 

Felice. Well, you know what you can do. 

Dash. I will eventually, but let me tell you that 

99 



LIKE A BOOK 

every group of serious thinkers among women sooner 

or later generates a group of serious drinkers among 

men. 

Davis. (Interrupting) I guess we might as well 

start. Nora has apparently been lost, strayed or 

stolen. 

Fay. Maybe she stopped in at Helen's. 
Davis. That's right. I'll call up there. 

(As he turns to the telephone tlie others 
remain quiet. Presently the -figures of a man 
and a woman appear in the hallway. The 
woman is cautioning the man to he quiet. 
Points across the hallway and then whispers 
to the man. He removes his shoes and with 
them in his hands follows tlie woman on tip- 
toes. Davis, in the room, sets down the 
phone, saying : " Don't answer." Suddenly 
the door hursts open and, pushed hy tlie 
woman, the man stumbles into the room, hold- 
ing his shoes aloft. There is a commotion. 
All exclaim, " Nora." Nora closes the door 
and leans against it. She points to the man, 
who is completely dazed and dwmhfounded) 

100 



LIKE A BOOK 

NoEA. That man picked me up. 

Davis. {Approaches the man threateningly) 
What? . . . 

The Defendant. {Trying to go, stutters) I, 
— I, — beg, — beg jour pardon. 

Nora. {Laughs loudly) Isn't he funny .f^ (Da- 
vis has readied her side and they block the man's 
departure) Oh, no, you can't go yet — I'm going 
to teach you a lesson. 

{Bursts out laughing again. Others grad- 
ually see the comic picture made by the man. 
Dash is tJie first and joins Nora in laiighing) 

Dash. {Pointing to the shoes) What were you 
going to do with these — wear them on your hands ? 

The Defendant. {Utterly confused, drops 
shoes and picks them up again. Tries to go) This 
is really . . . 

Nora. {Laughing) I told him I had a terrible 
aunt across the hallway who would kill him if she 
heard us and he took his shoes off so as not to make 
any noise. 

Link. {Laughing) That was pretty clever. 

Nora. {To Davis at the door as the Defendant 

101 



LIKE A BOOK 

tries to go again) Don't let him out till I tell the 
story — {To Defendakt) If I have forgotten any 
details, you can fill them in. 

Fay. For Heaven's sake, Nora, stop laughing 
and tell it. 

Dash. Come on, old man, make yourself at home. 
( Wheels a chair around and pushes him in chair but 
he rises again) We won't do anything to you. 

Davis. Yes, Nora, what is the point of this.^ 
(Sharply to the Defendant) What do you mean 
by following this woman to her apartment.'' 

Nora. (To Davis) Don't be angry, dear. 
(Laughs) It's only a joke. Wait till I tell it. 

The Defendant. (Recovervng his poise. From 
now on he gradually begins to become master of the 
situation) Since I am to be held a prisoner, may I 
ask to be permitted to put my shoes on? 

Felice. What in the world did you take them 
off for.? 

NoEA. That's part of the joke. 

(Defendant sits down and puts on his 
shoes hastily) 

Fay. Aren't men undignified with their shoes off.'' 

The Defendant. Please don't let this touch of 
102 



LIKE A BOOK 

toilet embarrass you. {To Nora) I can readily 
appreciate your amusement, even though the joke 
is on me. {Gets up) I seem to have come upon a 
good-natured party {Looks at Davis, who scowls) ^ 
with one exception. When you have told your story, 
I am sure I shall have the sympathy of the gentle- 
men in the party, since they must understand that 
I would hardly have approached the lady without 
some suggestion of an invitation. 

Davis. See here — {Starts toward Mm) Don't 
you insult my wife or I'll smash your face. 

The Defendant. Your wife! 

Dash. {Intercepting Davis) Hold your horses, 
Otis. Come on, old top, don't make a noise like a 
husband now. 

Davis. I won't have him insinuate that Nora 
flirts with strangers on the street. 

The Defendant. It would really be better if I 
were allowed to go. 

Link. {Jumping up) Yipee! — Here's your 
chance. Fay. We Avere just talking whether men 
preyed on women or women on men. — Here we have 
a case that will settle it. We'll find out who started 
this — Nora or he? 

103 



LIKE A BOOK 

Dash. Great ! — We'll have a trial and weigh the 
testimony in the case. Each of them tells the story 
and we'll be the jury. 

Link. Nora will be the plaintiff and he the de- 
fendant — and the issue to be decided is whether 
woman is preyed upon or does the preying. 

The Defendant. Perhaps the young woman 
might obj ect. 

Nora, Certainly not ! — I am not afraid that the 
verdict will not be in my favor. 

Dash. Come on, Davis, you be the judge — you 
look solemn as an owl. 

Link. No, Davis might be prejudiced. You be 
the spectators, Davis, that's a good role for a hus- 
band anyhow. 

Dash. I'll be the judge. The rest of you are 
the jury. 

{They arrange the table, chairs, and other 
furniture so as to give the room the appear- 
ance of an improvised court-room) 

Link. {Suddenly catches the Defendant, who 
tries to go) Come on, old man. On behalf of the 
outraged husband whose anger still chokes him so 
that he forgets his duty as host, I invite you as our 
104. 



LIKE A BOOK 

guest to aid us in settling this moral issue. We'll 
guarantee your safety. 

Dash. Yes, let the judge give you a cigarette. 

Nora. {Half-aside to Davis) Come on, dear; 
enter the spirit of this thing. He is really in a much 
worse position than you, and ever so much more 
graceful about it. 

Davis. (Grmning) Was that meant as a com- 
pliment to me? But I'm on. {Joins the others as 
tliey are assembling around the judge^s desk) Let's 
proceed ! 

Dash. Order in the court-room. Will some one 
please move that the minutes of the last meeting be 
dispensed with. 

Link. Oh, come on. Dash; that isn't court-room 
procedure. 

Felice. Link, you be judge. Dash isn't dignified 
enough. 

Dash. Oh, shucks ! Damn dignity ! (Link. 
throivs him out of chair) Well, I'm going to be 
foreman of the jury. 

Fay. You'd do best as court-crier. 

Dash. Is that so? I'd like to know what Link 
knows about court-room procedure? 

105 



LIKE A BOOK 

Link. I guess I didn't cover night-court all win- 
ter for nothing. 

The Defendant. In that event, may I hope you 
will have learned how not to dispense justice.'' 

Dash. Saj^, you're some highbrow ! 

Link. {Assuming a judicial mien) I assure you, 
sir, I will handle the scales of justice very delicately 
— to begin with I will use Edgar Moreau's latest 
book, *' Good and Evil," for the oath instead of the 
Scriptures. Will the plaintiff take the stand? 
(Nora rises) Do you swear to tell the truth, and 
nothing but the truth? 

Nora. I will. 

Dash. Not "I will" — "I do "— you got that 
gloomy spectator {Points to Davis) by saying, " I 
will." 

Link. Order. 

Dash. Ham and, — make it two. 

Felice. {Claps hand over his mouth) Keep 
still. Don't be so silly. 

Link. Now, madam, tell the story. You need 
not say anything that will incriminate you. 

Nora. I have no fear. I got off the bus at the 
last stop in the square. It was such a wonderful 
106 



LIKE A BOOK 

night, I thought I'd walk around before coming 
home. This person was also on the bus and got off 
after me. . . 

The Defendant. It was also my stop. 

Link. No interruptions. 

Nora. He caught my eye as I turned to go. 
Previously, on the bus, I had felt him looking at me ; 
you know how one feels those things. 

Dash. How did you know it was he? 

Link. Davis, I appoint you bouncer. If Dash 
interrupts again he shall be removed. Proceed, 
madam. 

Nora. He followed me. I didn't notice it first, 
but then he came alongside and as some people passed 
he knocked my handbag on the pavement and made 
me walk right into him. He apologized, picked up 
my bag and then kept right on walking with me. 
He didn't look like the men who usually accost a 
girl (Defendant laughs) and wasn't impudent. He 
kept right on talking till we got to our door. I 
don't remember what was said but I suddenly got 
an idea. I knew you were all here and so I let him 
come up. I told him to be real quiet because I had 
a terrible aunt across the hallway and told him to 

107 



LIKE A BOOK 

take his shoes off. Then I pushed him in here. 
(Laughs) I never saw anyone so surprised in my 
life. 

Dash. Man, you did look funny, standing there 
with your shoes in your hands. 

Link. Order ! 

Dash. What did you think had happened to 
you.? 

Link. Order ! 
, Dash. Throw me out — throw me out. 

Link. Listen, if we want a court- jester, we'll 
hire one. {To Nora) Is that all the plaintiff cares 
to say? 

Nora. I think it is. 

Link. Will the defendant take the stand? What 
have you to say? 

Felice. Make him swear, by Moreau, too. 

Link. Oh, I forgot. Do you swear to tell the 
truth, all the truth and nothing but the truth? 

The Defendant. Yes, 3'our honor! 

Link. Now, go on with your side of the story. 

The Defendant, The plaintiff's story is sub- 
stantially correct. I caught her eye accidentally 
as we got off the bus. I noted her hesitation while 
108 



LIKE A BOOK 

she was drinking in the wonderful night. Then I 
noticed that she did not take the direction in which 
she had started but the one in which I was going. 
The handbag incident was accidental. People pass- 
ing crowded us and the strings caught on my coat 
sleeve-button. The rest is as she said — painfully 
so. 

Fay. There you have it. He pleads guilty. 

The Defendant. To the circumstances but to 
the blame, No. 

Fay. The circumstances don't leave any doubt. 

Link. We are departing from our case. It is 
more the equity than the law that is involved — 
whether he was justified in addressing the plaintiff? 

Dash. It takes two to make a conversation. 

The Defendant. You cannot decide that issue 
in a generalization — each case must be decided on 
its own merits. 

Fay. Oh, bosh — you talk just like this fellow 
Moreau in his books — and then you have a man 
saying men are right and if a woman wrote the book 
she would say the women are right. 

Davis. No woman can write like Moreau, I'll say 
that much for him. 

109 



LIKE A BOOK 

NoEA. See here, I've got a right to cross-examine 
the prisoner, haven't I? 

Link. Correct — let us return to the case. 

NoKA. Have you ever picked up a woman before? 

The Defendant. I beg j^our pardon — I have 
yet to admit that I " picked up " a woman — I have 
been picked up hy a woman before, yes. 

Dash. Why don't you ask her if she has ever 
been picked up before? 

Link. Oh, keep still. Dash. 

The Defendant. Perhaps it would not be irrele- 
vant if we first defined what a " pick-up " is. For 
instance, Moreau in this book upon which we took 
oath . . . 

Felice. Oh! Llave you read it? Is it good? 

The Defendant. Opinions differ. 

Fay. Decidedly. 

The Defendant. . . . but as I started to say — 
in this book, the man and woman meet by chance 
in a train — that might be called a " pick-up." In 
that case, the couple eventually marry. 

Nora. Oh, pshaw! Now you gave it away. I 
was getting all excited about whether they really 
get married or not in the book. {To Davis) It is 
110 



LIKE A BOOK 

almost like our own romance. Do you remember we 
first met by accident on a train when I was going to 
college? 

Link. Fay — please copy. I thought you said 
Moreau wasn't as much of a realist as he was cracked 
up to be. 

Fay. Oh, you can't make a generality out of a 
coincidence. 

Davis. Please resume the trial or Nora will think 
of some other book that has resemblance to her ex- 
periences. 

Felice. {To Dash) Ahf Smarty! Seems 
that knowing women like a book has some basis in 
reality. 

Link. The spectator wants the trial resumed — 
we are forgetting the issue. Does the plaintiff wish 
to continue with her cross-examination.'* 

Nora. No — he just twists my questions around. 

Link. Does the defendant wish to question the 
plaintiff.'* 

The Defendant. If she will permit? May I 
ask whether she has ever read any Scandinavian lit- 
erature ? 

Nora. Some. 

Ill 



LIKE A BOOK 

The Defendant. For instance . . . 

NoEA. Oh, Strindberg, Ibsen, Bjomsen. . . 

The Defendant. Any others.'' 

Nora. Ellen Key. 

The Defendant. That's not literature. Any 
others ? . . . 

Nora. I can't think of any names. 

The Defendant. Knut Hamsun, by any chance? 

Nora. Not to my recollection. 

Fay. Oh, Nora, that's the chap the funny coun- 
tess talked so much about, isn't it? 

Nora. Oh, yes, he isn't translated yet, though. 

Dash. Oh, hell — what's all this got to do with 
the case? 

The Defendant. A great deal. 

Dash. Huh, 3'ou act like a corporation lawyer 
— ask about the moon to find out if you sold cold 
storage eggs. I object. 

Link. Objection overruled, go on. 

The Defendant. Did the countess, as you call 
her, tell you the stories of any of Hamsun's novels? 

Fay. Oh, yes, she told that one story about — 
why, Nora Davis {Bursts out laughing) — shame 
on you. Don't you remember? 
112 



LIKE A BOOK 

A''oRA. Remember what? — Oh! — {Bites her 
lips) Don't 3'ou say another word, Fay Forrest. 
I had forgotten — 

The Defendant. Yes, so had I, or you wouldn't 
have caught me with my shoes off. 

Dash. What's all this about.? What's the 
idea.^" 

The Defendant. This, that in a book by Knut 
Hamsun called, " Editor Lynge," one of the char- 
acters accosts a young lady on the street — asks 
whether he may accompany her home. She assents. 
On the stairway the young lady tells about a terrible 
aunt and makes him take his shoes off and then 
hurls the gentleman unexpectedly into a roomful 
of people, announcing dramatically, " This man 
picked me up." 

Nora. (As everybody bursts into laughter) I 
had forgotten all about it. 

Link. The court charges the jury to declare the 
defendant not guilty. 

The Men. Not guilty. 

Link. The women may be excused from voting 
on the question. 

Dash. Oh, fireman, save my suffrage-badge. 

113 



LIKE A BOOK 

Link. You are declared innocent. And say, old 
man, will you join us at the Brevoort? 

Nora. Oh, it's too late. I have to get up early. 

Fay. I won't go either. 

Felice. I'll stay here with Nora. 

Dash. Very well — let us men go anyway. 

Fay. Us men! There you have it. Just what 
I said about this Moreau man. {Men are gomg) 
He thinks he's smart and puts the blame on the 
women, just like you fellows do. 

Link. But, Moreau seems to have some knowl- 
edge of women after all. You know what Nora just 
said about her meeting with Davis — not to mention 
the incident where instead of books imitating life, 
Nora ... if it isn't realism, it's uncanny insight. 

Fay. Uncanny insight, bosh! Anyhow I don't 
care. That's all beside the point. After all, you 
are only men and Moreau is only a man. 

The Defendant. Thank you, Madam, I fear 
Moreau is very much a man — I am Moreau. 

(Consternation among the women, as the 
men fie out, led by Moreau) 

curtain 
114i 



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